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THE OLD, OLD STORY 





THE OLD, OLD STORY 


(ONLY DIFFERENTLY TREATED) 



Privately Printed 



SAN FRANCISCO 

1893 






Copyright, 1893, 
BY 

C. A. Murdock <fe Co. 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 



NCE upon a time, in a village 
situated on one of the fairest isl- 
ands in the Mediterranean, there 
lived a fisherman, with his son 
and adopted daughter. 

The fisherman, who was known by the 
name of Telmyk, was a rugged old man of 
seventy winters, or more. His muscles were 
as strong as the limbs of the oak, and his 
heart was as tender as the creepers twining 
around its base. 

Every morning, before dawn, he put forth 
to sea and fished until the sun was high in 
the heavens; then he returned landwards and 
sold in the market-place enough for the daily 
wants of his family, and gave what was over 
to the poor. 

Every one in the market-place knew him. 
They remembered how, many years before, 
he had married the fairest maiden of the 


4 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

village; and four years afterwards had fol- 
lowed her flower-covered body to the Grove of 
Palms, where it was burned, and the ashes 
thrown to the winds of heaven. And since 
that day, they noticed that he seldom mingled 
with men, — only grew kinder at heart, and 
more resigned. 

His son, Korlyan, was a shepherd. When 
not otherwise employed, he would sit in the 
temple of the Spirit of Universal Beauty 
(where the islanders worshipped in those 
days), dreaming about all sorts of things, and 
more especially about the statue of the God- 
dess of Beauty, which stood at the far end of 
the temple. 

Silent she stood, and ever lovely. Her arms 
were stretched out in entreaty, or in consola- 
tion; and about her mouth hovered a faint 
smile of pity — possibly of scorn. Korlyan 
never quite knew what her expression meant; 
that is why she had such great power over 
him. 

When the sun shone through the windows, 
great crimson stains would appear upon her 
body; but at night-time she appeared very 
pure again, — and very terrible. 

Memelle — the little waif whom the fisher- 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 5 

man had adopted — was deformed and blind. 
She was very beautiful, in spite of her great 
misfortune. Everybody loved her. When the 
children asked her where her eyes were, she 
replied that they had been left amongst the 
stars, where she would some day go to seek 
them. 

And the little children looked at one an- 
other, and wondered if that was really where 
their own eyes came from. 

She had heard Korlyan speak about the 
strange beauty of the statue, and noticed that 
he became very despondent when doing so. 
Thus, she found out that the boy loved the 
goddess, and pitied him very much; for, in 
her silent way, she had loved him for many 
years. There was no one in whom she could 
confide, and so she just tried to forget. But 
one does not do that so easily. 

The boy suffered differently. He sat for 
hours at a time in the temple, forgetful finally 
of his duties, and all-absorbed in the contem- 
plation of his ideal. When it became too 
dark to see her, he went home and brooded in 
silence, until his heart grew bitter within him. 
And the Spirit of Evil — whose disappoint- 
ment in love is the earliest and most tragic 


6 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

case we have on record, and to whom life is 
ever decidedly dull and commonplace, — took 
a lazy sort of interest in their love affairs. 

sK * ♦ * * 

One evening Korlyan took his father’s boat, 
and went fishing. 

The sea was very quiet, and the air very 
sultry ; so he very soon grew tired, and forgot 
all about the fish, and everything else. 

Presently he heard a noise, as of rushing 
winds overhead. Looking up, he saw a great 
white bird being attacked by another of blood- 
red hue. The white bird held something in 
each of its claws, and could not defend itself ; 
so the other had no difficulty in gaining the 
mastery. But the white bird, opening its 
claws, let their contents fall into the sea. The 
other, swooping downwards, sought to catch 
them, but was too late; they sank beneath the 
waves, and the red bird, shrieking with rage, 
killed its weakened adversary, and then flew 
away towards the north. The boy leaned 
over the side of the boat, and saw two white 
things upon the golden sands. Taking off his 
clothes, he dived to the bottom, picked them 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 7 

up, and returned to the boat, where he found 
them to be pearls of great beauty. 

Looking over them carefully, he found the 
word “ Truth ” engraven upon the one, and 
upon the other, “ For the Fairest.’^ Delighted 
over his treasures, he hastened home, and, tell- 
ing nobody what had occurred, he hid them 
in his room until the morrow should come. 
But, when the morrow came, he was anxious, 
having grown thoughtful over night. He be- 
gan to wonder what they betokened, and 
whence they came. He only remembered that 
the white bird came from the east. 

At the hour of noon, when all the worship- 
pers had gone to lunch, he went to the temple, 
and laid the pearls before the statue. The 
Pearl of Truth lost all its lustre, and looked 
like a common stone. Then the boy took the 
other one, and hung it upon her breast — but 
the beauty of the statue seemed to fade before 
its flawless splendor. 

The return of a worshipper — who, in his ex- 
citement to get to lunch, had forgotten his 
slippers, — caused the boy to snatch off the 
pearl and hurry away from the statue; but 
when the intruder had once more departed, 
he crept towards it again and replaced the 


8 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

ornament. It was all of no use; the one pearl 
lost all its lustre when near her, and the 
beauty of the other so outshone that of the 
goddess that the boy very petulantly put out 
his tongue at her, and walked away. 

Knowing not what to do with the pearls, 
he shut himself up in his room, and would 
speak to no one, — not even to sweet Memelle, 
who came often to his door, and leaned her 
forehead against it wearily, waiting for him 
to come out. He heeded her not, but sat 
brooding in solitude. And very soon his soul 
grew bitter within him. For that is the way 
with souls. 

Presently, out of the silence, a gentle voice 
arose and spoke to him, saying: 

“0 youth! why art thou so unhappy? Is 
it because of thy two pearls? Why goest 
thou not unto thy Creator, seeing that He 
fashioned thee, to demand of Him the tem- 
ple of the one and the rightful owner of the 
other? He may tell thee that there are other 
temples than that of beauty; and may lead 
thee to one who is worthier of homage than 
the one who reigns within it. Arise, 0 
despondent one, and pass with the sun from 
the windows of the east unto the portals of 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


the west; then, if thy search be diligent, thou 
shalt find thy quest, and return comforted.” 

The youth, knowing not that the Spirit of 
Evil thus spoke to him through the medium 
of his own soul, placed his two pearls in a 
velvet satchel, and taking a bunch of prim- 
roses to guide his steps, left the house quietly 
before the inmates were stirring. 


10 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


CHAPTER II. 

HE departure of Korlyan was no- 
ticed by only one person — the High 
Priest Tozrym. It was his custom 
before entering the Temple of a 
morning, to promenade upon his housetop, to 
the infinite disgust of the cats, whose fervor 
— ^judging by the quantity and quality of their 
hymns — was only equalled by that of the dis- 
established denominations of the day. Not 
that the music of the cats annoyed him — 
by no means; for, being High Priest of the 
temple of the Spirit of Universal Beauty, his 
soul was in perfect harmony with theirs ; and, 
by coming amongst them in all the poetry of 
the morning hour, he sought to tell them of 
it. But the cats were very proud, and held 
aloof from him. 

Standing thus in an attitude of contempla- 
tion, he saw, passing beneath him, the fisher- 
man’s son. He watched the boy become a 
black speck upon the golden desert, and final- 
ly disappear in the distance; then, with an 
anxious look at the rising sun, he hastened 



THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


11 


to the temple to perform his accustomed 
duties. 

Carefully he dusted the goddess, thinking 
sadly the while of his lawful but unlovely 
spouse, who yet lay beneath the bedclothes, 
and whose spirituality had of late become so 
grossly material. With a groan, he turned to 
depart, but found, standing before him, the 
fisherman Telmyk, with arms outstretched, 
and hair all rough and tumbled. 

“ 0 Tozrym,’’ the old man cried, “ hast thou 
seen aught of my wayward son? For this 
morning, upon entering his chamber, we 
found it deserted. He is not in the village; 
neither has he gone upon the waters, — for my 
boat is still anchored in the bay. Some days 
ago he showed me two marvellous pearls, which 
— so he said — were to dispel all sorrow from 
the world and his hungry heart. But their 
possession made him unhappy; for he brood- 
ed in solitude over their possession, eating 
not, and drinking not, and shunning even 
our Memelle. And now that he has gone 
from us, she sits weeping in his chamber, 
like a ring-dove in the nest of its absent 
mate.” 

Then the High Priest, being a truthful man. 


12 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


and one who stood within the shadow of the 
Spirit, answered : 

“ I have not seen him.” 

But in his heart, he wondered greatly about 
the two pearls, and dim forebodings came to 
him of an unhappy and dishonored old age, 
dragged out in penury, far from the sacred 
precincts of the temple. 

* 5lc * 

That evening, as Korlyan did not appear, 
special services were held to invoke the aid of 
the goddess in his behalf. 

At an early hour the elders assembled and 
sat in the front seats, leaving the uncushioned 
back ones for their spouses and the unini- 
tiated in general. Strange perfumes began to 
fill the building; and presently, to the tremu- 
lous notes of harps and mellow flutes, a ques- 
tionable quartette, consisting of a long and 
lugubrious basso, a fat and sawed-off little 
tenor, and two real ladies — whose only fault 
was their inability to sing — pirouetted before 
the congregation, and warbled softly. When 
the fervor of the worshippers had reached its 
highest point, the High Priest Tozrym struck 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


13 


three times upon a gong of purest crystal, 
whereupon a score of diaphanously clad dan- 
cing girls came — from Heaven only knows 
where — and danced with Doric majesty along 
the aisles. To their graceful movements the 
congregation kept time with their arms and 
heads, and all behaved properly, except the 
Village Pessimist, who so far forgot his adopted 
philosophy as to join in the dance, and so get 
forcibly ejected. 

When the dancers had passed twice around 
the aisles, a jackass of discreet years and mod- 
est appearance was introduced, and formally 
sacrificed. The collection was then taken up, 
and after it had been safely deposited with the 
High Priest (who was also a bank president), 
he told them that the fate of the missing youth 
was still uncertain; but, in consideration of 
the bountiful offering, he would dispense with 
the customary exhortation. 

The sighs of relief, which this announce- 
ment brought forth, were so general, that the 
lights were extinguished; and, in the general 
rush to get out, three men and the High Priest 
were killed. 


14 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

Some hours afterwards, when the moon was 
very high in the heavens, Memelle entered the 
temple, and groped her way up to the statue. 

At first, she seemed afraid to touch it; but 
after a while she summoned up her courage, 
and passed her hand slowly all over it. The 
rounded limbs, full hips, and beautifully 
moulded bosom seemed to disdain her; and 
when at last she reached the face, and traced 
out its cruel smile, she sighed and turned 
away to an open window. 

The ceaseless crash of the waves upon the 
beach, and the song of a lonely bird, hinted to 
her of the fatality and futility of existence. 
She was only a little girl, so could not under- 
stand why such things must be; and very 
soon the sigh became a sob. She hurriedly 
drew her shawl closely about her head, lest 
the silent statue might hear her and laugh, 
and then went back to the cottage. 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


15 


CHAPTER III. 

N the eve of the thirteenth day 
Korlyan arrived, weary and low- 
spirited, at the porch of Paradise. 
He sat upon the lowest step, and 
looked wistfully upward at the great door of 
brass and the high walls of white marble, 

, which extended as far as he could see — guard- 
ing the domains of the happy from the outer 
world. 

Presently he arose, and slowly climbing the 
many steps, knocked gently at the door. No- 
body seemed to hear him, and so he knocked 
again — somewhat louder. As no one came, 
he sat down by the porch and waited. And 
after a while the Spirit of Evil entered him, 
and made him beat upon the door again — 
this time with great force, till all space re- 
sounded with the voices of muttered thunder- 
ings: 

“Thou fool! to think that the hardship 
of thy pilgrimage will open for thee the 
Gate of Supposed Happiness I What art thou 
in the great system of worlds, that He should 


16 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

change thy lot before that of any other? 
When thou standest in the presence of God, 
who of all womanhood will step forward and 
say: ‘This man was true; he is worthy of the 
Garment’? Who of the needy will step for- 
ward and say : ‘ This man gave me of his love 
and his riches; he is worthy of Thy mercy’? 
Who of the spiritually blind will step for- 
ward and say: ‘This man gave me of his 
own light; he is worthy of Thy companion- 
ship ’ ? Is it not likelier that thou shalt stand 
solitary among the blessed, as thou didst upon 
earth, and shalt be doomed to eternities of 
further striving before partaking of that 

joy?” 

But the youth heard not the warnings. He 
continued beating at the door with hands 
much bruised and blee’ding, and the thunder 
tones continued : 

“ Back to thy den, thou fool ! What right 
hast thou to demand the reward of the well- 
tried? Return to thy cherished solitude, and 
woo, with bitter heart, thy mocking self — 
harsh grown, and deaf to the heart-beats of 
the many. Art worthy thou of immortality 
— thou to whom even the hour of trial was 
oppressive? Deserves! thou the Garment and 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


17 


the Torch — thou, whose earthly ideal was sen- 
suous, and whose sight was wilfully blind? 
Beware how thou era vest admittance; for to 
enter here at all — save through the purgatory 
of unfulfilled desire — is only to tread anew 
the thorny path and lone! ” 

Then the youth, grown frightened at the 
continuous murmurs, which at last he began 
to comprehend, ceased beating against the 
brazen portal, and crouched within a corner 
of the porch, weeping bitterly. 

One by one his tears fell into space, and 
became stars. But he noticed them not, for 
he was watching the young flowers spring up 
in the gardens; and when the wind began its 
evening song he fell fast asleep. 

Shortly afterwards the door opened, and the 
Queen of Heaven — radiant in majesty, tender 
in the consciousness of motherhood, and di- 
vinely sad in knowledge of the ever-recurring 
world tragedy, — came forth to bless the Earth. 
With her were twelve maidens, clothed in soft, 
clinging gowns, old-gold, pearl-gray, and crim- 
son-hued. 

The white walls of heaven reflected the 
glowing hues; and, far away in space, upon 
the drowsy old Earth, the labor-worn toilers 


18 THE OLD, OLD STORY. 

of the fields stood still a while to greet the 
sacred sight with prayers. 

One of the maidens noticed the sleeping 
youth, and pointed him out to the Blessed 
Mother. She looked at him sadly for a time, 
and then told the girls to leave her alone with 
him. One by one they passed behind the 
great portal into the light within; and when 
they had all gone a soft darkness fell over 
everything. 

Then the Mother sat down beside the child, 
and drew him upon her breast. He ceased 
weeping, and said, as one speaks in dreams: 
“ If only the door would open ! I have wan- 
dered so long; and they told me that every- 
thing would be granted me here. Oh, teach 
me the hiding-places of Truth and of Beauty ; 
for my pearls are becoming dim, and may 
lose all their wonderful lustre if thus I return 
to the world.” 

“ My child,” answered the Mother, “ you have 
done wrong in coming here to find your quest. 
The Spirit of Truth and of Beauty is univer- 
sal, and is to be found everywhere where the 
presence of the Father is. Not only here, but 
even in the darkest corners of your orb it 
exists, — hidden, perhaps; but ever ready to 


THE OLD, OLD STORY, 19 

spring up and lighten the pathway of the 
benighted wanderer. In the body of the 
lowest of His creatures burns the truth as 
brightly as in the purest of the spirit-essences 
which minister in heaven. In the heart of the 
humblest woman is a beauty as transcendent 
and lasting as that which passes each morn- 
ing with me into the Holy of Holies.” 

The boy looked curiously at the calm, beau- 
tiful woman in whose arms he lay cradled, 
and asked her who she was, and whether she 
had ever been unhappy. 

And the Mother smiled tenderly, and said : 

“ My child, I am the Queen of Heaven. I 
sit beside the Throne at the judgment of the 
awakened, to plead for those who sinned un- 
consciously. I watch the souls of the unchar- 
itable — heavy-laden with golden ore — sink in 
the balances to the earth they loved so much ; 
while the souls of the poor — sealed with the 
marks of sacred poverty — rise upwards into 
eternal light. I am she whose heart Fate has 
made the storage-place of old-world griefs, 
and whose bosom must be the home of count- 
less myriads of the unhappy, denied the sacred 
companionship and love which may fall to 
the lot of other men. Sad memories of the 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


past, and sadder forebodings of the future, 
make in my heart their hiding-places; and 
though the chambers are full, yet the guests 
keep ever arriving, and must be taken in. 
Now and then, rays of hope steal through the 
silent fane, and leave therein the promise of 
greater happiness. But the memories of the 
lost stay with me for ever and ever.” 

The boy thought a while, and then asked if 
every one would not be happier if sorrow were 
unknown; to which the Mother answered: 

“ My child, it is only through sorrow that 
man can attain to perfection. With the cessa- 
tion of sorrow would come the end of all 
spiritual endeavor. The babe cries until the 
mother soothes it to sleep; the dreamer grasps 
for the fleeting ideal before him, and stum- 
bles, by stages of divine inspiration, up the 
rugged hill of life; and the heart-broken and 
lonely woman, grown weary of the bitter fight, 
offers the remnant of her heart to God and 
the world, knowing that her soul is in His 
keeping, and that He will understand.” 

“But, down there,” the boy said wearily, 
pointing to thej world, “each one will have 
the truth to be just that which he individ- 
ually believes. They clamor and fight in the 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 21 

darkness, and so I got away from them. But, 
what I seek does not seem to be here at all.” 

“And they are right,” said the Queen Mo- 
ther. “The world is not yet old enough to 
speak one universal tongue. Do you not 
remember how the peasants on a Sabbath 
each pull a separate rope, that from the belfry 
of the church may issue the melody of a per- 
fect peal? Even so do the different creeds pro- 
claim the one Father, whose beauty goes forth 
with the earliest rays of the sunlight ! ” 

Speaking thus, she kissed him, and then 
passed behind the great gates. 

The boy seemed not to notice her absence. 
He sat looking silently into space. 

Presently he became dizzy; strange lights 
danced before his eyes; a wheel began to 
revolve in the center of his head, and, finally, 
seemed to absorb his entire being, and after 
striving in vain to retain the mastery over his 
thoughts, he became entirely unconscious of 
all things. 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


CHAPTER IV. 

FTER leaving the High Priest, the 
old fisherman took a staff and some 
provisions, and went forth into the 
desert. He had not travelled very- 
far when he met his son, proceeding leisurely 
homewards, and singing strange songs. 

The boy did not recognize his father. His 
senses had left him, — he was become as a brok- 
en shell, wherein the whisperings of the sea are 
mute or unmelodious. He permitted the old 
man to kiss him and lead him slowly towards 
the city. Meanwhile, with broken voice and 
staring eyes, he sang : 

“ Jingle, jangle ! ring the bell, 

Toiling peasants sound the knell. 

Dooming every soul to hell. 

Jingle, jangle, 

Dong ! 

“ See the weighted balance turn ! 

Jingle, jangle,— there, go burn! 

Blessed Mary, still I yearn. 

Jingle, jangle, 

Dong ! ” 

Having finished his song, the boy laughed 



THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


23 


loudly, and swayed his hands to and fro, as 
> though he were ringing a chime. The old 
fisherman prayed continually, and was very 
glad when finally the walls of the city rose 
up before them. 

The boy showed a dislike to passing within 
the gates; but, after some coaxing, his father 
got him inside, and led him to their home. 

When Memelle came to watch over him 
through the night, the boy pointed to her 
little crooked back, and began to laugh im- 
moderately again; but the sweet white face of 
the girl soothed him, and he began to sing 
again : 

“ Far away in twilight lands, 

Near the Gate of Heaven, 

Torch in hand, my loved one stands. 

Till my gloom be riven. 

“ Stands she there and nightly sings 
Songs of wondrous sweetness. 

Till within my heart there rings 
Echo of completeness. 

“ Wait we then, O weary soul, 

Soon will dawn the morrow. 

When, with her, we seek the goal— 

Free from every sorrow.” 

Memelle sat down beside him, stroked his 
thin hands and face, and wondered if love 


24 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


and pain always went together. Presently 
her head drooped upon the pillow, and she 
fell asleep. 

Korlyan looked at her for a while, and very 
soon the shadows left his face, and the love- 
light shone in his eyes. He crept out of bed, 
and opening the latticed window, looked 
up at the stars, and began to chant, — and this 
was the madman’s prayer; 

“O my Father, who sittest in heaven beside the great 
Fountain of Knowledge, — we are, both of us, now very 
tired and somewhat afraid of the darkness. 

“We have heard the monotonous thunders that silence 
the voices of song-birds; our hearts are become as great 
vases, o’erfiowing with cadence of sobbings. 

“Thou knowest her heart’s secret legend; perhaps 
Thou will rub out the writing, as Thou wipest the dew 
from the flowers, or tears from the eyes of the dying. 

“ And I, O my Father, went searching, amidst the far 
mazes of star-heights, for that which I now find was 
near me — too late, for behold ! she is sleeping. 

“ O God, as the shadows have covered the travel-worn 
world with their mantle, perchance Thou will fashion 
her dreamings to mingle with mine in the silence. 

“Let Thy Love and Thy Light be around us to deaden 
the noise of the thunders, and cause us to wake clearer- 
sighted to greet, hand in hand, the cool morning ! ” 

Unperceived, there entered the chamber the 
sad-faced Angel of Death, whose garments are 
gray-hued and sombre, and whose touch can 
relieve the unhappy. 


THE OLD, OLD STORY. 


25 


The boy felt a cool wind fan his cheek, 
and crept softly back to bed, so as not to 
awaken his loved one. 

Before falling asleep he crushed the two 
pearls to atoms, so that their alluring beauty 
could cause no more misfortune. 

And when the morrow dawned, it was for 
Korlyan a morrow indeed, — free from all long- 
ings and heart-aches, or blindfolded gropings 
for wisdom. 

But in the house of the fisher was weeping. 


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